


Strange Company

by Lyracst



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Backstory, Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, Fenris deserves love and care and so he gets it, Fenris' (Dragon Age) Backstory, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), Recovery, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyracst/pseuds/Lyracst
Summary: An independent piece for now, but hopefully soon to be a part of a larger collection.  Based on the events of the DAII quest Bait and Switch, viewed from Fenris' perspective.  After closely pursuing Danarius and finding him missing from his mansion, Fenris takes stock of the encounter and the unusual group he finds himself with.All rights to the characters and lore in this work belong to Bioware.  I am but a loving fan.
Kudos: 4





	Strange Company

Fenris inhaled a deep, quivering breath of the cool night air. It was surprisingly fresh, for Kirkwall. Even so, it did little to ease the impending feeling of panic and uncertainty rising within him.

_A mage. She is a mage._

How had he not known sooner? How had he not seen it? His head began to spin, and he allowed himself to lean back against the mansion wall. He focused on the feeling of his shoulder blades against the cold, smooth stone. On the light breeze ruffling his hair and whispering through the trees. On his feet, pressed firmly into the ground. On the weight of his sword strapped across his back. He exhaled.

_I should flee._

But he couldn’t, not with Danarius so close at hand. Though there was every likelihood that the magister had already abandoned the city, Fenris could not take the chance. He had to stay in Kirkwall, had to see it through, lest Danarius return. His hands clenched into fists at the thought. 

_So close. It could have been over, if only I had been faster, acted sooner._ He gritted his teeth, slamming once clenched fist against the wall. _Venhedis_.

It mattered little, now. From the state of Danarius’ manor, the magister had anticipated his little visit, and he would not likely return soon. He had missed his chance. There was nothing left to do but pass the time and wait.

Fenris laughed a terse, bitter laugh. He had not been in Kirkwall long, but the few days was enough to show him how bleak life here truly was, especially for an elf. Although he had yet to see signs of enslavement, the majority of them lived in squalor in an over-crowded, remote district, and whether by force or by choice, they rarely seemed to leave it. The rest of Kirkwall was not much better – in fact, other than a handful of noble-blooded humans, most of the city was impoverished and in shambles. Fenris had been fortunate enough to sneak into the city; it was only a matter of time before he was forcibly removed – by a guard, by the Templars, by a gang of criminals looking to make a bit of money off of his few possessions – it was anyone’s guess. No, if he wished to stay in Kirkwall, he would need to be meticulously discreet, a ghost.

_Or_ , he mused, _make friends._

They stepped out of the mansion in a clatter of armor and chatter, unconsciously or perhaps intentionally falling into line behind _her_ . The mage. They were a ragtag group. A dwarf with a ridiculously-modified crossbow. What appeared to be a guardswoman, though why she was here at all puzzled him. A young man who resembled the leader and looked as though he barely knew how to wield the sword on his back. And _her_. 

She swept a shock of dark hair out of her face, turned to him, and smiled. Her eyes were a bracing shade of aquamarine, and she wore a streak of red warpaint – or was it a tattoo? – across her face. Her winning smile did not waver, even when met by his impassive frown. 

“Are you certain we can take all of what we found? There was a good bit of gold on some of those mercenaries—“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you casting spells in there, didn’t notice what you are,” he interrupted, fighting to keep his voice even despite the shaking in the pit of his stomach. “You’re a mage.”

Her smile lessened, if just a fraction. “Indeed, though I had no intention of hiding ‘what I am.’ Does me being a mage trouble you?”

“Greatly,” his eyes narrowed, his arms unconsciously crossing over his chest. “A mage can never truly be trusted.”

She raised her brows in surprise. The young man beside her chuckled and shrugged, a reaction she returned with a sharp scowl and a sharp punch to the shoulder.

“He’s not wrong, sister.”

“Shut it, Carver,” she turned back to him. “Look, I truly am sorry for whatever brought you to that conclusion, but I assure you, not all mages are the same, and thus it hardly seems fair to presume that not a single one can be trusted. You don’t know me, and I certainly don’t know you.”

“No?” Fenris pushed away from the wall and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. He looked down into her eyes, searching them. “Then tell me, what motivates you?”

The mage said nothing for a moment, her gaze locked with his own, pondering his question. 

“What motivates me,” she replied evenly, firmly, “is finding a safe place for my family, for those depending on me.”

Fenris nodded, “And what would you do to protect your family?”

“Anything,” she breathed, her chin jutting forward in defiance.

He leaned in closer, unblinking. She did not back down, nor flinch, nor move. 

“Exactly,” he snarled, turning suddenly on his heel. He took several paces away from her and the others, his arms dropping to his sides, his fingers flexing with agitation. “As I said, all the same. You would do anything for something, and that anything inevitably means _blood magic_. Perhaps not now, perhaps not tomorrow, but someday.”

Fenris turned to face them, to face her. Motionless and silent, they all watched him in their own ways, their eyes thoughtful, calculating. The young man, her brother, looked as though he agreed with him. _Curious_. She, however, did not appear as he had expected. Fenris had expected anger, loathing, arrogance, disdain. She exhibited none of these things. Instead, she looked pensive, hurt, perhaps even sad. He was not sure what to make of it. 

“I cannot simply prove to you what I am not,” she murmured, breaking the silence at last. “If you truly wish to be proven wrong, you must give me time. You must get to know me. But it seems unlikely that you want that.”  
  
He could demand that she leave right now, and she would happily do so, he knew. He could send her away, and he would never see her again, for she knew nothing about him, had no evidence of their meeting, other than a few pocketfuls of gold and Tevinter trinkets, taken from Danarius’ dead men. Fenris glanced at the resplendent mansion, a glaring symbol of magisterial opulence and corruption, and clenched his teeth, anger welling up inside of him. Just as she could not prove him wrong, he could not explain to her how deeply he mistrusted everything about her, could not convey why just looking at her made his stomach turn with fear. However, just as she sought security for her family, Fenris sought security for himself, and it was very possible that he would not survive long in this strange land on his own. _I may yet live to regret this decision, or die from it._   
  
“I am Fenris,” he confessed, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly in defeat.   
  
“Fenris,” she repeated quietly, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “I am Evelyn Hawke. But please, and I sincerely beg you, just call me Hawke.”   
  
“Hawke,” he nodded.   
  
They stood in silence, both taken off-guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. She glanced uneasily at her companions.   
  
“And, yes, well,” she gestured to the man at her right, “this is Carver. My brother. Carver Hawke. Ignore him, for the most part.”   
  
The man smirked and nodded by way of greetings, his arms crossed over his chest.   
  
“To my left is, Varric Tethras. He...well, we really just met.”   
  
“How do you do?” The dwarf gave a sweeping bow and winked. “Merchant. Author. Rogue extraordinaire. I’m a dwarf of many skills, at your service. Well, at _hers_ ,” he nodded gruffly at Hawke. “Unless, of course, you have more coin than she does.”   
  
“Right. And this is--”   
  
“Aveline, of the Kirkwall guard,” the large, red-headed woman that stood somewhat detached from the group lurched forward and offered her hand. Fenris took it, and it closed like a vice. He winced in surprise, and Aveline noticed.   
  
“Well,” Hawke sighed with a strained grin that signalled more than a little relief, “good, introductions are done with. What now?”   
  
_What now, indeed._ Fenris shifted his weight from one foot to the other, considering his options.   
  
“Now I suppose I offer you my services. We’ve fought together, and it went quite well. And I owe you, after deceiving you into aiding me.”   
  
“Services?” Her arched brows arched ever higher, the word rolling off her lips as though she were toying with it. “You are...a mercenary, then?”   
  
Fenris chuckled, but then ceased abruptly. After all, it was a fair question, if one that took him by surprise. He must seem every bit a mercenary in her eyes, and in reality, he had little idea _what_ he was. The truth - that he was an escaped slave running from a lifetime of torture, terror, and anguish, hellbent on a mission to murder his former master, a prominent and powerful Tevinter magister with a long list of allies, and all associated with him - seemed unwise to divulge. She knew enough already. He glanced from her companions back to her, all curiously awaiting his response. He cleared his throat softly.   
  
“Ah, no. No, I am not a mercenary. I am--”   
  
He had no words for her, not any that freely came. How foolish he must look, how helpless he felt. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze evenly. She seemed to recognize what he was feeling, for she nodded her head succinctly and, with a wave of her hand and a jaunty smile, dissolved the tense silence.   
  
“You are a free man, and you are with us, now. That’s all that matters. So,” she rattled the new coins in the pockets of her robe pointedly, “Hanged Man, anyone?”   
  
“I thought you’d never ask,” Varric answered brightly, already turning his stocky frame in the appropriate direction.   
  
Aveline groaned lightly and shook her head, “Thanks, but count me out. I have guard duty in the morning. Goodnight, Hawke.”   
  
“You’ll join us some night, Aveline,” Hawke called after their rapidly-retreating friend. The guardswoman raised her armored arm in a terse wave and was gone.   
  
“She loves us, secretly,” Hawke assured him. “Brother? You’ll join us, won’t you?”   
  
“As long as you’re paying.”   
  
“I am fairly certain I saw you pocket far more coin than I in there.”   
  
Carver shrugged and grunted. Hawke sighed in exasperation.   
  
“Very well,” she turned to him at last. “Fenris? Care to join us for a drink?”   
  
Fenris found himself holding his breath, the knot of tension that had been present in his stomach for the duration of the night making itself known once more. She seemed friendly enough, seemed genuine, but in truth, Fenris wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts. The adrenaline of the pursuit, along with the deep, aching disappointment of Danarius escaping, had left him drained and hollow. The subsequent strangeness of meeting the mage and her group of unlikely companions had him feeling even more on-edge and restless. Sitting across the table from her, sharing a drink with her as though he was one of her friends, as sincere as she seemed in this moment, felt unlikely. He shook his head softly.   
  
“I...thank you,” he cleared his throat softly once again, “but I would prefer to stay here for awhile. In the event that Danarius or any of his lackeys return.”   
  
“Another time, then,” Hawke smiled warmly, but her oceanic eyes flashed with an uncertainty he had not seen in her before. “Take care, and if your goons do return, you know where to find us.”   
  
“Unconscious and under some sticky table?” Carver grinned wryly.   
  
“Never fear, I shoot straighter when I’m drunk,” Varric assured. “Now, are we going, or what?”   
  
Hawke shrugged her shoulders helplessly and, nodding her head, cast him one last grin. And then they were gone, their presence reduced to a boisterous clamor of voices retreating down the empty road, until even that was absent. Fenris stood for awhile longer in the cool night air, quietly combing through the events of the evening. His fears about the mage were by no means soothed, but he felt confident that her company could prove useful, so long as he remained vigilant. What mattered was that he remained grounded and focused, and becoming somewhat established in Kirkwall would aid that. It was only a matter of time before he caught wind of Danarius again, and when the moment came, Fenris would be ready. At last, he retreated inside the walls of the mansion. He was accustomed to the smell of blood, and the corpses did not bother him. He set to work clearing out a small space in Danarius’ master quarters for him to rest and bide his time, and after several hours passed in silence, he even allowed himself to drift off. His dreams were surprisingly absent of anxiety, and for the first night in memory, Fenris slept well. 


End file.
